THE NEXT MORNING, Nathan stretched and sighed. No more headache. He touched his forehead. Cool. No more fever. Then he sat up and scrambled for his tablet, which he’d fallen asleep with sometime after his last dose of meds. He quickly checked his e-mail and breathed a sigh of relief. Mrs. Grant had gotten the proposal he’d cobbled together last night.
With a silent prayer, he clicked on the reply and scanned the message. By the end of it, his smile was so wide his face hurt. The dragon liked the solarium idea. Oh holy God of Prada.
Nathan plopped onto his back and waved his hands and feet in the air, doing a celebratory jig, further rumpling the sheets in his excitement. Then he stopped moving and blinked up at the stucco ceiling. They were cutting it really close with the total 180 on the planning. There was so much to do. Changing the flower order. Changing the menu. Choosing the linens. Scouting the venue. Ugh!
Rubbing his face, Nathan slid out of the massive bed and reached for the robe hanging on the back of a chair. An icky feeling caught up with him. Dried fever sweats from the day before clung to his skin. He was in dire need of a shower.
He ambled out of the room and made straight for the luxurious master bathroom with its large brass tub, heated tile floor, and gold-plated fixtures. The patter of the shower running made him pause at the door.
Discarded clothes littered the floor all the way to the shower closet. In lieu of swimming, Preston must have gone on a run, judging from the sweats. No steam rose from the cubicle. Through the glass walls Nathan saw everything.
Preston’s body personified muscle definition. Swimming a hundred laps before breakfast did that. Water ran in rivulets down the cuts of muscle on his back. Head bowed, he splayed his hands against the wall as if he needed it for support. The position highlighted the beauty of his arms—the wings he used to fly. Each section—from forearms to biceps and triceps—was the perfect specimen of power. And his legs. Each was a mile long, made lean and sexy by kicking against the pool’s surface countless times. His calves were Nathan’s favorite—rounded and firm.
He and Preston had shared showers before. And nothing. Just two guys washing away a day’s worth of sweat. Athletes did it all the time. But since he’d come to terms with his feelings, seeing Preston naked took on a different meaning. His mouth watered, forcing him to swallow before he embarrassed himself by actually drooling.
Preston turned around, giving him an unobstructed view of the equally gorgeous front. A chest made broad from years of swimming butterfly and abs even a washboard would envy. There was nothing not to like physically. He was the whole package. And Nathan craved every solid inch of him.
“Oh, you’re up,” Preston said.
Nathan immediately yanked his eyes back up to meet Preston’s gaze. Oh, he was up all right. He cleared his throat and swallowed.
“Uh, yeah.” He tugged at the robe’s belt just to give his hands something to do rather than flail for getting caught leering. “Wanted a shower before breakfast.”
“All right.” Preston turned back around and twisted the tap closed. Then he said over his shoulder, “Can you hand me a towel?”
At first the request didn’t compute. Nathan was too focused on watching Preston open the door to the shower closet. Gods, even water dripping down his chest was sexy. Without thinking, the tip of his tongue darted across his lower lip. Suddenly the bathroom seemed stifling.
“Nate?”
“Huh?” He blinked. “What did you say?”
A smirk stretched across Preston’s lips as he pointed to the rack Nathan was standing beside. “The towel?”
“Oh!” He quickly grabbed one from the stack and threw it.
Preston caught the towel, then wrapped it around his waist as he stepped out of the shower. “Anything specific you want for breakfast? I can cook while you shower.”
Thoughts of food flew over Nathan’s head. Being hit by the full force of Preston just out of the shower was staggering. All that gorgeous sun-kissed hair falling in wet waves over his equally gorgeous face? He could already see the endorsement deals for underwear ads once Preston became famous.
His throat—among other parts of his body—was suddenly tight, so he refocused his attention to someplace safer, like Preston’s eyes. Holy Mother of Versace. Had they always been so clear? And sexy? Okay, this was his personal brand of exquisite torture.
“Nate?” Preston reached up and ran his fingers through those dripping strands.
“Aren’t you cold?” Nathan managed to ask through a mouth dryer than the Sahara. Without meaning to, he reached out and twirled his forefinger around a strand that fell out of place from Preston’s previous combing. Like he’d always known, the guy had such soft hair. Perfect for tangling fingers into. Perfect for grabbing.…
Words failed him. Failed him bad as images bombarded his weak brain. Forget lustful thoughts. This was downright inappropriate. How easy would it be to undo the towel and let it fall to the floor?
He had to get a grip.
In an unexpected move, Preston grabbed Nathan’s hand and held it. A part of Nathan protested. He wasn’t nearly done fondling Preston’s hair. Yes, fondling. Because he wasn’t thinking with his head anymore. What would those firm lips taste like? he wondered.
“Nate,” Preston whispered, his face coming precariously close. “You’re all flushed. Maybe you need to go back to bed.”
The doorbell to the apartment rang, releasing Nathan from the spell that looking up at Preston had cast. He pulled away, took several steps back because soap and the lingering scent of chlorine on Preston’s skin—even after a few days not swimming—was particularly alluring.
“I’ll get it,” he said as he rushed out of the bathroom. He needed the space because he was close to jumping Preston.
Forgetting to check who it was, he pulled the door open to find a deliveryman holding a large rectangular envelope.
“I have a delivery for Preston Grant,” the guy said, checking his tablet.
“He’s … he’s in the shower. I can sign for him,” Nathan replied, his mind still muddled over what had almost happened in the bathroom.
The guy handed him the envelope and the tablet. “Sign here, please.”
Nathan did and thanked him before closing the door. Regaining some of his composure, he returned to the bathroom and found Preston in a shirt and sweats, drying his hair with the towel he’d previously had around his waist.
For a second, Nathan lamented the loss of seeing Preston half-naked, then asked, “You were expecting something?”
Excitement sparked in Preston’s eyes. “Are you sure you’re feeling better?”
“What does that have to do with this?”
“Just answer the question.”
Taking a moment to check himself, Nathan nodded. “Fever’s gone. I’m not dizzy anymore. Just a slight scratchy throat, but nothing a few lozenges couldn’t cure.”
“All right.” Preston hung the towel over his shoulders. “Open the envelope.”
“Okay.” Nathan ripped the top and retrieved a pair of tickets inside. Then his brain caught up with what his eyes were seeing. “Maroon 5?”
“Yeah.” Preston grinned. “Jackson had an extra pair he couldn’t use. They’re playing at Stadio Olimpico tonight.”
“Jackson?” he asked in awe.
“Don’t be mad.”
“These are front row.” Nathan’s heart slammed so hard he thought he was going to pass out.
“He has his faults, but he’s not a total bastard.”
“Jury’s still out on that.” Nathan’s eyebrows came together. “But you don’t even like Maroon 5.”
“But you like them,” Preston said simply.
Holding the tickets so hard, Nathan practically crumpled them against his chest. It felt like a betrayal to take the tickets considering where they had come from, but this was Maroon 5 they were talking about. Damn Jackson and his propensity for sweetness on occasion. He mentally apologized to Natasha for this slip in his loyalty.
He was so happy the world could have been ending and it wouldn’t have mattered—as long as it wasn’t before that night. He had a date with Adam Levine. Front-row seats. Close enough that he could probably smell the singer’s sweat. Thank you, Jackson!